Living With The Weight
by BitAndBridle27
Summary: He'll never hear gunfire the same way again.


**Hello Everyone! I was really pleased by the response I got from my first story (hugs and cookies to you all!). This story is a little more on the grim side, but I hope you like it anyways!**

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Never again would he hear gunfire the same way. That loud sound that ricochets off every wall: it's a warning. It's a warning that whatever is getting those sound waves full in the face is about to be destroyed. That thought is humbling. It makes him wonder why he never thought about it like that before.

He killed someone that night. Richard Castle, just an average author, became the reason someone would never again be able to walk, talk, breath, dream, or do anything else ever again.

"You were just trying to protect Beckett," everyone told him.

"Anyone else would have done the same," they all reasoned.

No, anyone else would not have done the same. Because anyone else would not have had access to their partner's firearm while she lay on the ground, bleeding from a shoulder wound that stung so much from the gravel getting embedded in it that she was incapacitated. Her whimper of pain was embedded in his mind like the gravel embedded in her wound.

Any other average writer would have never found himself (or herself) in that situation. And any other cop, as he pretended to be, would have reacted differently. At least, that's what he told himself.

The truth is that Ryan and Esposito both said they would have reacted the same way.

"Beckett's life was in danger. I would have done anything I could to protect her and you did the same," they both said in an attempt to comfort him.

Castle just sat down in the hospital's waiting room and put his head in his hands, rocking back and fourth slightly, trying to ease his internal struggle. He replayed the events in his head:

The team was going to apprehend a suspect in the murder of an entire family. They brought backup; they were wearing their vests; they had a tactical plan. Everyone wanted to get this guy. The murder of children sat like a cold, hard stone in the pit of everyone's stomach.

Castle and Beckett were going from the back of the warehouse in which the killer was thought to be hiding in. They had teams flanking them from either side, ready to take the guy down if he made an escape.

It was dark out and there were not many lights on because they were trying to use the element of surprise and make it seem like the back entrance was an excellent escape. Unfortunately, it backfired on them.

The back door open, they flooded the gravelly lot with light, the suspect open-fired at the cops.

In a haze of confusion, there was even more gunfire. However, one little sound stood above them all: a whimper, and then a light thud beside him.

"Kate!" he cried. How his undefeatable rock could have gotten shot blew his mind. But in that moment, when he started to see the blood seeping out from the wound on her shoulder, he was engulfed in a red haze.

He grabbed her gun, he was just trying to stop the gunfire and shoot the gun out of the guy's hand like he did with Scott Dunn.

He fired.

Then all the events blurred together and, somehow, he ended up in a hospital waiting room, waiting to see if Kate Beckett was going to be okay.

"Mr. Castle?" a voice roused him from his thoughts. He looked up with eyes that belonged to a body much older than him.

"Detective Beckett is going to be fine. You can go see her now if you'd like," the kind nurse told him. She had warm eyes and a nice smile. It didn't even register with him. He walked towards Kate's recovery room like a zombie. When he got there, she turned to the doorway with tired eyes and gave him a soft smile. Her hand weakly patted the bed she was in, motioning for him to come sit down.

He listened to her silent command, but stopped at her bedside, brushing the loose strands of hair from her face with a tenderness that silently conveyed his current emotions. Not only was he trying to remind himself that she was still there, he was admiring how vulnerable human life, any human life, is.

She brought her own hand up to his, her fingers softly grasped at his and he returned the gesture, sitting down on her bed while still holding her hand.

Neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other, hazel upon blue, communicating silently everything they were feeling.

Finally, Castle broke the silence. "How do you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?" she responded in question, her voice drained.

"Know that you've killed people. How do you live with that burden and still get out of bed every day, and still carry around that gun every day knowing you might take a life with it?" His voice was shaky as he communicated everything he had been feeling with the one person he knew would actually say something comforting to _him_.

Kate pondered this question while Castle just watched her, admiring every facet of her and remembering over and over again why he had shot the suspect. And, as if they were on the same wavelength, she answered him with his own thoughts.

"I remind myself that if I hadn't, I would have lost something much more important," she replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and proving a faint smile. "And I know that I did what I could to keep them alive after shooting them."

"I didn't," Castle confessed grimly.

"But you kept me alive," Kate told him, taking her hand from his and placing it on his cheek.

Castle looked at her for a minute. A little bit of the weight he felt was relieved. He did keep Kate alive. He would do anything to keep her alive, even if it meant feeling like he did right now.

Placing a soft kiss on her lips, he sat on the side of her bed and held her hand until she fell into sleep.

"Always, Kate," he whispered, "Always."


End file.
